


Supermarket

by KandiCryptid



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Childishness, Confusion, Cultural Differences, Culture Sharing, Dorkiness, Flight Delays, Fluff, Fourth of July, Friendly banter, Gen, Humor, Language Differences, Lots of sarcasm, Older Than They Look, Opening Up, Sealand's never been to Walmart, Some angst, Surprising Maturity, Swearing, Trying new food, Walmart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24417955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KandiCryptid/pseuds/KandiCryptid
Summary: A few hours ago, if anyone one had asked him how he planned to spend his Fourth of July, Molossia would have given an instant answer.A few hours ago, he had plans.A few hours ago, those plans involved a fun night with America and his friends, fireworks and some beer. Just like they always did on the Fourth.Nowhere in those plans did he account for the sudden appearance of an annoying British kid, a series of delayed flights and an eleven o’clock run to Walmart.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 29





	1. Never Been to Walmart

Molossia slammed his phone down in frustration.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t any _fucking_ _fair_.

America was supposed to be here hours ago. He said he would be here by three, at the latest. But as Molossia stared at the clock on the wall, he bristled at the ten-thirty. America was late, just like always.

Molossia chided himself. America wasn’t always late. In truth, he was usually quite punctual, at least when it came to Molossia. Besides, it wasn’t his fault that his flight from New York had been canceled; it was the rain’s fault. It was the same with the others, too. He knew they would have been here if they could.

Sitting on his couch, Coke in hand, he looked out the window. It wasn’t raining here, which was normal, but the sun had just finished setting and the last few beams of red light flew towards him. His yard was otherwise dark, and the moon was already beginning to rise. If America had been there, they would be cleaning up the grill by now and lugging out their boxes of fireworks. Prussia would have brought beer, and France would bring cake. He wasn’t sure what Canada was going to bring, since he did something new each year, but he had looked forward to it nonetheless.

But no.

They weren’t there because of the stupid rain.

Molossia found it even more infuriating that it wasn’t even raining at his house, the one place that actually needed rain. It was as dry as ever, and even in the night it was overwhelmingly hot. That’s why he had already put fans outside. He sighed.

Everything was perfect until now. Everything was ready to go.

But none of it would happen.

He knew that they could always reschedule, but it still hurt. The Fourth was the one time he could really spend time with America and the only time he could open up to America’s friends. The first few times had been awkward and tense, especially with Prussia. Hell, he had declared war on him for drunkenly breaking his fence.

Then the next few times had been better, partially from Prussia’s apology beer, and he had started to like them.

He had warmed up to them.

America’s friends, now his friends as well, were cool.

That, of course, was before he had met the other micronations. That was when he was less self-conscious and cynical around others. He wasn’t sure why the others made him that way, since he was fine with most everyone else. It was only those damn kids that pushed him over the edge. Like Sealand.

Still staring out the window, he groaned.

_Especially_ Sealand.

Maybe it was because he was so impossibly upbeat, or maybe because he was so desperate it was sad, but Molossia couldn’t stand him. He knew it was petty, but it was ingrained somewhere deep in his mind. Out of all the micronations, Sealand was the absolute worst, and nothing would change his opinion.

Molossia finished off his water bottle and tried to throw it into the trashcan. It would have made it, but it bounced off the already heaping pile of trash and onto the floor. Groaning again, he cursed himself. He knew there was something that he had forgotten, and only now did he remember.

He was usually good at taking at the trash, but with the hurry to get everything done today, it had completely slipped his mind. He took one last look into the still-darkening yard as he hoisted himself up, quickly tying and replacing the trash bag. Slinging it over his shoulder, he made his way out the door and to the outside garbage can. It was farther away than usual because he had moved it out of the way, and now he regretted it.

He was letting the lid drop when he heard a loud chirp behind him.

Whirling around, he didn’t see anyone at first. He looked around wildly, fear gathering in his stomach. He doubted it was any of the nations, since their planes were still delayed. He hoped it wasn’t some human trying to break in again. That happened more often than he liked, but he couldn’t stop each one, so every once in a while he would come across a new patch of graffiti somewhere on his house.

But this seemed different. He heard another chirp, this time behind him. This time when he turned, he was met with Sealand, who was standing on a precariously balanced rock to put him closer to eye level.

“Molossia! I was wondering when you’d notice me. I’ve been out here for a while now, and you haven’t even noticed,” he gloated. Molossia noted the huge, smug grin plastered on his face. He also noticed his clothes. Instead of his sailor suit, he had on clothes that actually made him look like a normal kid. Dark jeans that seemed surprisingly tight and a t-shirt with writing that he couldn’t read in the dark. He looked good.

He hated it.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He growled, ready to push Sealand off the rock, only stopping when he remembered that England might get mad at him if Sealand ended up with a broken bone. “This is private property, dammit—I could arrest you if I wanted to.”

Sealand’s grin only widened. “You could,” he said. “but you won’t.”

“And why is that?” Molossia asked, temper building by the second. How dare this tiny, annoying twit come and invade like this? He searched for a reason as quickly as he could, but he didn’t find any.

“Well, I’ll have you know that I came here especially for you. Also to piss off England, but mostly for you. And don’t you always say that you accept people who come just for you?” Sealand said. It sounded to sickly sweet that for a moment he thought he was joking.

“Why would you look for me on the Fourth of July? Aren’t you, like, British and all?”

Molossia couldn’t help but snicker when Sealand scowled and finally lost his balance, just barely catching himself as he fell. “First of all,” he huffed, hauling himself off the ground, “I’m not British; I’m Sealandic. Second, that’s exactly why I came.”

“Because it’s a holiday?”

“Yep.”

Molossia stared at him in bewilderment. “That makes absolutely no sense. You’re doing an awful job at explaining yourself, you know,” he said, putting his hand to his head. “You still haven’t really told me why you’re here, at my house, after dark. It’s fucking creepy.”

Sealand shrugged. “I’ve been told I can come off as that. Anyway, I’m here because I want to know what it’s like.”

“You mean the Fourth?”

“Now you’re getting it!”

Still confused, Molossia sputtered as Sealand began to make his way towards the house. “The hell do you think you’re going?” he yelled after him, running to block him. “This isn’t your place, it’s mine. I make the rules. And one of the rules is that I have to know why you’re creeping around my house at night.”

Sealand sighed and crossed his arms. “I already told you,” he said. “I want to know what the Fourth is like. I’ve seen it on tv and all, but I want to actually see it. England never let me,” he said, pouting just enough to force Molossia to look away.

“Kid, look, I—”

“You do know I’m older than you, right?”

“—I don’t know what you expect me to do. As you see, no one’s even here because—wait. How d'you even get here? A lot of planes are grounded because rain right now,” he said.

Sealand rolled his eyes as if the answer should be obvious. “I flew in a few days ago on my boss’s orders. He wanted me to do some stuff for him, and I finished it, so I thought I’d stay and enjoy the show. America had already been talking about it, so I knew just where to go,” he said. Before Molossia could think of what exactly Sealand’s boss would want him to do, he was already talking again. “From there I took a plane a short way, then a couple of buses. Gave me an awful crick in the neck.”

“How did you—how the hell did you get a plane and buses? Aren’t you twelve?”

“That depends. Physically I’m about twelve, but with the right clothes I can look old enough to pass as fourteen or fifteen, so people ask fewer questions. As for the money? My bosses borrow from my a lot, so they owe me, anyway.”

Choosing to ignore the obvious concerns that raised, even Molossia was slightly impressed with his determination. He still hated him, but it was now tinged with respect.

He sighed. “Fine, kid. You’re clever, I get it. But I still don’t know how I can help you,” he said. “America and the other guys were bringing most of the stuff, so I don’t have much here. You might as well have just wasted your time.”

For a second he swore he saw his face fall, but then the waver disappeared as if it were never there, leaving him to doubt if it ever happened. Sealand shook his head and looked up, seemingly annoyed at having to tilt his head so much. It was almost cute.

Almost.

“Well, I’m here, and I’m not leaving until you show me something. I came all this way for you, Mol. Help me out a bit?”

“If you were just with your bosses, why didn’t you just ask them?”

Finally Sealand’s smile actually crumbled, and for a second he had an expression that Molossia couldn’t identify. It was something between uncertainty shame that showed when he dropped his eyes to the ground. “I’d rather not,” he said, much quieter than before. Molossia wondered if he had struck a nerve, because this was definitely different.

“I mean,” Molossia continued, “It would have been a hell of a lot easier than going all the way down here.” Part of him wondered if he could force Sealand out like this. If he couldn’t physically do it, maybe he could make Sealand do it on his own. “You wouldn’t have had to creep around my house, scaring my half to death and being—”

“I get it, Molossia. I’m creepy. I get it, all right? I was trying to be nice come to you first. Sorry,” he said, sharper than Molossia had ever heard him.

“I’ll leave if you really want me to.”

It was impossible not to notice the crack in his voice at the end, and Molossia’s stomach did a guilty flip. He had though that this would be an easy way to get rid of him, but now he just felt bad. Sealand was already on his way to the road when Molossia caved.

“Wait,” he called out, instantly doubting if this was a good decision. “Come back.”

Sealand stumble-walked back, tripping on an impossibly high number of small rocks and cracks in the ground. “What if I just… I don’t know, take you to Walmart and buy a few sparklers or some shit?”

Eyes instantly lighting up, Sealand’s smile grew even bigger than before. “Really?” He asked, bouncing up and down on his heels. Molossia rolled his eyes and smiled.

“Get in the damn car before I change my mind,” he said.

They got in the car, Molossia wondering if he would ever make it back without murder on his crime record.

* * *

It didn’t take long to get there, but Sealand jumped out as soon as the car doors unlocked. He looked up at the store in awe.

“What?” Molossia asked, confused.

“It’s huge,” Sealand said.

Molossia frowned. “Aren’t they all like that? Even the Neighborhood Markets are pretty big.”

“I’ve just never been to Walmart before, so I didn’t know what to expect, really,” Sealand admitted, tucking his hands behind his head.

Molossia swung his head around, stopping them both outside the entrance. “The fuck?”

“What?” Sealand said, putting his hands up with a laugh. “There’s only, like, four supermarket chains in England, and Walmart’s not one of them. And none of them are usually this big,” he said

“So you’ve never been here? At all?”

“The only store I’ve been to in America has been CVS, and that’s only because America had a killer hangover while we were hanging out once, and he didn’t have any medicine,” he explained.

Molossia groaned. “I’m guessing you want to look around, huh?”

Sealand nodded.

“Fine,” he huffed. “But we aren’t buying anything other than the sparklers. Clear?”

“Crystal.”

At first, Molossia was surprised at how calm Sealand was. He had thought he would be bouncing off the walls, but all he did was look at the bins of fruit and vegetables by the entrance. “They look the same as back home,” he said, sounding disappointed.

“They’re plants, dumbass. Of course they look the same,” Molossia said, already searching the aisle signs for the seasonal section. Meanwhile, Sealand had wandered over to the refrigerated vegetable section and was eyeing the bagged salads in confusion. Molossia, curious, walked over to him.

“What’s wrong with the salad?” he asked.

Sealand shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong. There’s just… a lot of it. I mean, how many kinds of leaves do you need? They all look the same, anyway. What’s the difference?”

Molossia snickered, surprising even himself. He had to admit that he had thought the same thing many times. “You think that’s a lot?” he asked.

Sealand looked up. “Follow me.”

Something Molossia had noticed on his few trips to the UK was the unfortunate lack of peanut butter. He sometimes saw a few kinds, but nothing impressive. He scanned the aisles before pulling Sealand down one. They walked down until about halfway, where he spun Sealand around and waved his arm. “How’s this?”

“What the hell?”

Molossia’s mouth dropped. “What’d you just say?”

“Well, can you blame me? What do you even do with it all? I mean, just look—”

Molossia proceeded to discreetly pull out his phone camera as Sealand went on to pull out a few jars of peanut butter, each different brands. He looked at a few swirled ones and cocked his head. “Chocolate?”

“Well, yeah,” Molossia said, making sure the camera could hear as he started recording. “Peanut butter’s in a lot of sweet stuff.”

“Mol, this is all sweet stuff. Which I’m not complaining about, because I love sweet stuff, but sweet peanuts?”

“Haven’t you had peanut butter before?”

“Of course I have! But this is not just peanut butter. This is a dessert in a jar. To be fair, though, it does looks delicious,” he said, rolling one swirled with jam in his palm.

Pursing his lips, Molossia had to admit that he did have a soft spot for peanut butter and jelly. America used to make it for him all the time, and even now he’d eat it to feel the nostalgia. He sighed and snatched an abandoned basket by the opening of the aisle. “Throw it in,” he said. Sealand’s eyes widened and he looked like he was going to say something, but he was cut off.

“I know what I said, but just do it. I needed more anyway.”

Since it was late, they were likely the inly ones, other than the staff, in the store, especially since it was the Fourth. It wasn’t as creepy as he thought it would be, though, so it wasn’t unpleasant. Sealand walked close beside him, sneaking glimpses into each aisle as they made their way to seasonal. At one of them he stopped, squinting. “Is that… salad dressing? Like, ranch and stuff?”

Molossia looked and went to pull him back, but he was already going down the aisle. He growled and went with him, not wanting him to break anything. “Yeah,” he said, looking at the bottles.

Tapping his chin, Sealand looked at each suspiciously.

“I’m guessing you don’t have that, either?”

“I’ve heard of it, but they just don’t sell it in the UK. What’s it like? Actually, what even is it? I googled it once out of curiosity, and it looked kind of gross,” he said.

Molossia scoffed. “Ranch is, like, one of the best condiments ever made. It’s creamy, milky, savory beauty in a bottle,” he snapped as Sealand sputtered.

“Savory milk? That sounds… not very good,” he said, picking up a bottle and looking at the ingredients. “And there’s even more sugar! Isn’t it supposed to go on salad?”

“For your information, ranch can go on fucking anything,” Molossia said as he violently snatched it from his hands, tossing it in the buggy and nearly hitting Sealand with it. He vaguely remembered swearing not to buy anything, but this was different. This was simply showing the kid how wrong he was.

“It’s not my fault your country has weird-ass food. I bet even your biscuits are freaky,” Sealand said with a smirk. Molossia growled and rammed him with the cart, making him jump back.

“Oh yeah?” he said, already running towards the cold bread section by the milk and eggs. He was glad no one was there, or he would surely have run into someone by now. When he got there with Sealand in tow, he picked up a Pillsbury can and shoved it in his face. “See this? These are classic, southern style biscuits, meant to be covered in butter and shoved down your fucking throat. These are not ‘freaky,’ these are heaven. Don’t even try to debate, because I’m right.”

Molossia could have laughed at Sealand’s expression if he wasn’t trying his hardest not to. But he kept it in, even when obvious confusion passed over his face.

“Those aren’t biscuits.”

“The fuck? Of course they are.”

“Those… are absolutely not biscuits. The closest thing I could call that would be a scone.”

“These are not scones—kid, are you blind or something?”

Sealand ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, Molossia, I am secretly blind. The fact that I can look at this tube and tell it is definitely not a scone means nothing. Either way, if that’s not a scone, I’m starting to worry what you think a scone actually is,” he said. He didn’t look annoyed, just confused.

Still, Molossia couldn’t contain a small snort at Sealand’s sarcasm.

He recognized savagery when he saw it.

“Well,” Molossia started, “a scone is a little triangle thing with stuff on it. Sometimes they have a sugar glaze or just sugar poured on top,” he said, honestly trying to explain. He knew they had scones in the UK, so why was this so difficult to understand? “Follow me,” he barked, unceremoniously throwing the tube in the basket. Leading him down the edge of the store, when he got to the bakery he scoured the shelves until he found what he was looking for: a little box of triangular pastries, complete with bits of strawberry. Sure enough, they were labeled as scones.

“See?” he said, passing Sealand the box. “They’re scones.”

Sealand still looked doubtful, but he looked at them in curiosity. “Are they good?” he asked, staring at the sugar decorating them. Molossia nodded.

“I think they are.”

“Can we get them?”

“I already told you th—” he stopped when he looked at the cart. He hadn’t planned on buying much, but it was worth it to teach this kid a lesson not to mess with American food. “Fine, put them in,” he relented with a lengthy sigh.

He was sure he heard a quiet “Yes!”, but he had already tuned him out and was trying to refind the seasonal aisle.

“Wait, what about the biscuits?”

Molossia stopped and growled. “Okay, what the hell do you think a biscuit is?”

“You know, a little sweet thing—” Sealand stopped himself as a look of realization came over him. “A cookie,” he muttered. “I mean a cookie! I forgot America called them that, since England banned him from saying it anytime he was around me. He said it was to make sure my English was ‘pure’ or something.”

Molossia rolled his eyes. “So you really want to look at the cookies? Of course you do,” he said, turning to find the cookie section. He found it quickly and rolled the cart over. Sealand skipped behind him until they reached it, then dashed in front of him to look at the rows and rows of sweets. He stopped at the Oreos, which Molossia couldn’t blame him for.

“I always knew they had a bunch of flavors, but some of these are just super wild,” he said, snatching a container of red velvet in one hand and brownie in the other. Molossia thought about making him put them back, but didn’t. He was nearly out at home, and when the others got here they would make a great snack along with France’s cake. He snatched them out of Sealand’s hands and threw them in the cart, much to Sealand’s delight.

The next few minutes were spent comparing candy, arguing over which was better and throwing many of them in the basket to prove their point later. Then they were distracted yet again by the drink section, where Molossia decided to grab a root beer for America and Sealand decided he wanted one, too, so they ended up with two.

Finally, they made it to the seasonal aisle, with Sealand gazing in apathy at the countless patriotic decorations. He looked over each row, letting his eyes fall on each flag and toy and decoration. “It’s really a big deal, huh?” he muttered.

Molossia stopped looking for sparklers and looked up. “Well, yeah,” he said. “I thought you knew that. Weren’t you the one who said you wanted to experience it firsthand or whatever? You said that was the whole reason you came.”

Sealand pursed his lips. “I know,” he said. “Anyway, where are those bloody sparklers?” he said, finishing it with a badly concealed yawn.

Molossia chortled as he grabbed a two packs. “Lame. Who gets tired at eleven at night?”

Sealand’s smile bounced right back as he took the packs and threw them in the basket with the rest of their bounty. “Not me,” he said with drooping eyes. Molossia wasn’t sure why, but he found it strangely cute.

They had made it to the self-check out when Sealand pointed something out in the cooler. “Is that… tea?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah. What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s cold.”

“It’s iced tea.”

Sealand stared at him. “Iced tea,” he said.

Scanning items, Molossia didn’t look up to respond, simply saying, “That’s what I said, kid.”

“Tea is not iced; it’s hot and I will die protecting that opinion,” Sealand said boldly. Molossia paused and poked his chest.

“Look here: sweet iced tea’s pretty great. Especially when it’s hot as hell outside. So don’t let me hear any of that bullshit,” he said. On a whim, he took one from the cooler and scanned it, throwing it back to him. Done with the checkout, they gathered up the bags and left, not before remembering to turn his camera off.

He would have to show this to the guys later.

He had barely started the car when he noticed Sealand leaning on the car door, eyes half shut. He nudged him gently. “Don’t make me have to carry you and these bags in the house,” he mumbled halfheartedly.

He kept driving in silence, dimly aware that Sealand was most likely asleep until he heard a quiet voice. It was unintelligible, though, and he huffed. “Gonna have to speak louder, kid.”

There was a few seconds of quiet, and he wondered if he had imagined it. But sure enough, he heard it again, and this time it was easy to hear.

“Do you still hate me?”

Molossia swallowed. Did he still hate him? He thought about it.

Sealand wasn’t as annoying as he thought.

He was kind of funny, too. Defiantly sarcastic.

Plus, he could be really damn cute.

“No,” he decided. Then another thought occurred to him. “But, I mean, I never hated you,” he lied, hoping Sealand couldn’t tell.

He heard a soft, sleepy giggle. “It’s okay if you do,” he said. “I already know you did before, and I knew it was a risk coming here.”

Molossia gave a deep, impossibly lengthy sigh. “Fine. Maybe, before I got to know you a bit more, I hated you. But no—”

“Again, it’s okay. I can’t really blame you, can I?”

Molossia took his eyes off the road to look at him, again grateful for the absence of people out. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you’re not exactly the only one,” Sealand said. Molossia’s stomach dropped.

“Sea, look, I… I didn’t mean what I said earlier, all right? I didn’t mean you were creepy, just that you scared the hell out of me,” he stammered. Even in the dark, he swore he could see a faint smile.

“You’re an awful liar, Mol.”

“I’m not lying, kid. I just…”

Then a theory came to him.

“Sea, you didn’t come here just for the Fourth, did you?”

A moment of silence, then, “No.”

It was quiet, but it was earnest, and Molossia had to grip the wheel to stop himself from reaching out and hugging him, which surprised him. Did he ever really hate him? He couldn’t be sure now. It seemed pretty to hard hate the small, barely awake kid in the passenger’s seat.

Then again, he had said it himself: Sealand wasn’t really a kid. But that didn’t stop Molossia from thinking of him like one, and he felt something he hadn’t felt for him before. It was almost like what he felt like with America, but not quite. He wondered if this was how America felt about him.

Molossia cleared his throat. “Did you have fun?”

‘Yeah,” Sealand muttered, already leaning again on the door.

Then Molossia chuckled, already with a list of things he needed to do tomorrow.

He knew exactly what he was going to do.

He had plans for tomorrow.

They involved America and the guys, since they should be in by then, and it would absolutely be fun. Just like always.

But they also involved the endearing British kid that showed up at his house with nowhere else to go. That part was new.

And Molossia couldn’t wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay i'm sorry this is so late, it's just that there's so many things a want to write and so little time! 
> 
> Anyway, there's a lot of dialogue because one of the main reasons I wrote this was so practice natural, flowing speech. So yeah. Also a bit of... not angst, exactly, but some heavier stuff at the beginning. It gets lighter fast, though, so just hold on :)

Molossia had hoped Sealand would wake up before they got home. But he had not. He had been dead asleep when they pulled up well after midnight, face smushed into the door and a little dribble falling down his chin. Molossia groaned, thinking of the pile of groceries he had to take in, too.

This is what he got for being nice: hard labour.

But he had done it anyway. He got the bags first, throwing them on the counter to put away later. Then he ran back out to the car, stopping before he opened the door. How was he even supposed to do this? If he opened the passenger door, he would surely fall out. But he couldn’t just drag him over the console, either. 

Finally, he made the decision to open Sealand’s and risk it. He held his arms out to catch him, trying to angle himself while struggling to open the door gently. He may be annoying, but he still didn’t want him to get hurt.

And, sure enough, Sealand did indeed fall out.

Just not into his arms.

Rather, he fell face-first into the dirt.

He started awake with a loud splutter as he spit out clouds of dust. After the initial shock, his eyes snapped up to Molossia, who had backed away while failing to hide a laugh. Sealand stuck his tongue out, no doubt trying to get rid of the taste of dirt.

“What the hell, man?” he hissed. 

“Uh, that’s not my fault. I wasn’t the one who decided to fall asleep.”

“I didn’t decide to sleep, you fucking twat.”

Molossia startled. Of course, he had heard him swear before. He had not even an hour earlier. But it was good natured, not anger, and not out of nowhere like that. “Ooh, is someone mad I woke them up from their naptime?” he teased. While he didn’t exactly feel bad, he did feel a twinge of guilt as Sealand pulled himself up, dusting dirt off his clothes. 

Sealand didn’t say anything, and Molossia noticed how he appeared to be shaking. He swallowed. “You good? I mean, I know how that must have been a surprise, but it can’t have been that bad, kid.”

Sealand took a steadying breath, and the shaking died down. “Whatever,” he said. “Let’s just get in. It’s too hot out here.”  
Molossia fast-walked in the door, trying his best to ignore the awkward silence that had come up between them. He scowled. They had been doing okay, hadn’t they? Not great, but okay. What if Sealand went and told England that something bad had happened? Or worse, America? He didn’t think he would, but he had seemed mad.

Why?

Walking in the door, the first thing that Sealand did was flop dramatically on the sofa, pressing his face into the soft cushions with a groan. He somehow looked even more tired than he had a few minutes ago. Molossia knew it was after twelve, but he also knew that Sealand had a messed-up sleep schedule, anyway. He had once called him at three in the morning to ask what his favorite colour was. He hadn’t even had a reason. He just wanted to ask. So, it seemed unusual that he was tired now. Though, looking back, he could see why he might be. An eleven o’clock run to Walmart was a very tiring experience, and Sealand had been exhausted in the car. The fall must have made it worse.  
Molossia started unpacking the bags as fast as he could. He was as tired as Sealand, but he had to get the food up now or he would never do it, and

he wanted the house to be clean for when the others came over.

The others.

Shit.

When were they supposed to arrive? They hadn’t specified an exact time, just that it would be around noon. He groaned. 

It was a well-known fact that Molossia needed a lot of sleep. Whether it came from a full night’s rest or even just naps throughout the day, he needed those hours to function. Without them, his already sour attitude towards people got worse still. And now, he was likely going to be tired all day, all because of Sealand up at his door.

He thought about calling him over to help, but decided not to. Sealand looked dead on the couch, and he would likely only make things harder. So, he finished putting things away alone.

Then he thought about something else.

Sealand had just shown up at his door.

Did he need to shower?

Did have a change of clothes?

Did he even eat before coming here?

He said he had taken a plane and buses to get here. Had he just come unsupervised? Sealand flew alone more often than not, Molossia knew, but even for him, coming to Nevada must have been an ordeal.

A realization hit him as he was putting up the Oreos.

He was here, in Molossia’s house. 

That meant Molossia was responsible for him.

Which meant he should probably wake him up now to make sure he wasn’t dying or something.

Which would likely lead to a very pissed and/or exhausted Sealand.

Shit.

As much as he dreaded it, it had to be done. He finished stashing the cookies in the pantry and walked over to the sofa. To his surprise, he wasn’t asleep. He had turned over, staring at his phone with droopy eyes.

Molossia cleared his throat. “So, uh,” he started, “do you need to do anything? You can use my shower or whatever, and I could find an old T-shirt and shorts. Well, I don’t know about the shorts because you’re pretty damn tiny, but the shirt would be big enough to cover everything, so—”

“Mol.”

Molossia stopped and stared at him.

“I’m fine,” he said, not looking away from his phone.

Molossia shook his head. “Nope, you’re not. And look, I’m really not even doing this for you. I’m doing this because if America finds out I let his brother waste away on my couch, I think he’ll be pretty pissed off.”

Sealand chuckled. “I will if you really want me to. But these clothes are fine.”

“Let me wash them.”

“Deal.”

Watching as Sealand got up, Molossia made a dash to gather some old clothes from his closet before giving them to him. Sealand had smiled at that, and it made Molossia’s heart jump, though he didn’t know why.

He wasn’t doing this for him, after all. 

While he showered, Molossia watched the video from Walmart, even laughing at few bits. He wasn’t sure if it was the constant banter or the fact of how Sealand’s expression seemed to change by the second, but that shit was funny. But he was still out by the time it ended, so Molossia was left in silence. 

Then his thoughts returned to the Oreos in the pantry. He hadn’t had them in a while, mostly because he simply kept forgetting to buy them. He reckoned that he should leave them for the party, but damn it they were his cookies and right not he really wanted some cookies. He took no time ripping open the red velvet package, instantly grabbing two to stuff in his mouth.

“Aw, you’re eating without me? Jerk. And here I thought guests were supposed to be priority.”

His head snapped around to Sealand, hair dripping and face flushed with heat. The old shirt he gave him was an old, faded blue and fell to nearly below his knees.

“Nice dress,” he sneered.

“Only the best. Don’t I look beautiful?”

“Ravishing.”

They both fell into a fit of giggled, Sealand’s being open and loud compared to Molossia’s quiet snickering. 

“Anyway,” Sealand said, “here.” He tossed his bundle of clothes to Molossia, who shrugged. 

“I’ll get them in a minute. Can’t you see I’m eating?”

“Without me?”

“Fuck off.”

“Not if there’s food involved.”

Molossia sighed. “Typical,” he said. “Typical twelve-year-old.”

“What did you just call me?” Sealand snapped, a mischievous smile lighting up his face.

“I said, makes sense for the twelve-year-old to only focus on food.”

“Um, excuse me, who’s the one stuffing their face right now? ‘Cus it’s sure not me.”

“You want to, though. Admit it.”

“Fine,” Sealand said. “I will.” Then he sauntered over, taking the ones in Molossia’s hands. He proceeded to break them apart, relishing in Molossia’s shock at having his cookies stolen. He chewed for a bit before his eyes widened, looking at him incredulously.

“What?” Molossia asked. 

“It’s just… these are really, really good.”

“Just wait until you try the rest of it.”

Sealand’s eyes widened even more.

In a matter of minutes, the counter was covered in an array of food. Candy, soda and peanut butter cluttered one end while the pastries and drinks took the other. In the oven were the biscuits and, for the ranch, an absurd amount of pizza rolls. Sealand and pulled up a chair and was bouncing in excitement. Molossia had already gotten his phone out and was recording, wanting yet another video.

“Okay,” Molossia said. “First thing’s first.” He got out a spoon and opened the peanut butter jar, the one with a chocolate swirl, and dipped the spoon in. It came out with a heap of it, threatening to spill over the sides. 

Sealand took it and looked at it with curiosity. He sniffed it before popping it in his mouth. He smiled as he ate, holding back a giggle as he stuggled to eat with his mouth closed, but Molossia could tell he was struggling. He probably should have told him not to eat it in one bite, but oh well.

By the time he was done, Molossia was already taking out a scone and cutting it. He looked up as Sealand laughed.

“That was honestly better than I expected. Probably because of the chocolate.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Molossia shrugged, passing over the pastry. “I don’t really care for these too much, but they’re pretty good, I guess.”

Taking a (small) bite, Sealand nodded. “I really like it, actually. It’s not a ‘scone,’ but it’s like something France might make. A… what is it, ah.. Made-mata-“

“Madeleine?”

“Yeah, that! It’s kinda’ like a Madeleine.”

“I guess. A bit too dense, though. Madeleines are more spongy and less brittle.”

“True. Anyway, what’s next?” 

Turning to their stash, Molossia pulled out a plain Hershey bar. “Just as a disclaimer, a lot of Americans don’t actually like these very much. I mean, we eat them, but we don’t… love them? It’s one of those things where it’s the cheapest option. Most other chocolate is just super expensive in comparison. That, and it’s literally everywhere. Capitalism and all that.”

Sealand nodded. “I think I’ve had the cookies n’ cream one before. Never the plain, though.” At that he tried it, wrinkling up his nose a little before shrugging. “Not terrible. Not great, but not bad. You’re right. I could eat it, but I prefer Aero and stuff a lot more.”

“Yeah. I’ve never had Aero before, though.”

The next few minutes were spent going through the counter, during which they learned a few things:

Chocolate peanut butter is very good on brownie Oreos.

Chocolate peanut butter is not very good on strawberry scones. At least to Molossia.

It is also not very good on pizza rolls.

But pizza rolls themselves are good.

If you asked Molossia, they were amazing with ranch. If you asked Sealand, ranch made them terrible.

Both could agree that ranch was not good on a strawberry scone.

Ranch is also not good on chocolate.

When the biscuits came out, though? The biscuits were good with everything.

Except root beer. They were not very good with root beer because they good too soggy.

By the end, they had tried every combination they could think of, and the clock was a solid 1:27. Molossia turned off the camera and yawned before

pulling a limp Sealand behind him. Flopping unceremoniously on the sofa, they huddled close together.

Hearts and bellies full, they fell asleep with the food still on the counter.

* * *

The next day, the others had arrived together for once at eleven. It was a little early, but they hadn’t wanted to risk their chances of being late again.  
America knocked first, a loud, echoing rap. Behind him, France and Prussia waited patiently. France coddled his cake, and Prussia did the same for his beer.

When no one answered, America knew what to do. Molossia often forgot that he had a key to his house.

When they finally got in, though? 

Party temporarily forgotten, they just wanted to know why Sealand and Molossia were fast asleep on the couch, a whole snack buffet behind them.

America just wanted to know why Sealand wasn’t wearing pants.


End file.
